


What Happened Backstage

by I_Shouldnt_Be_Here



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Adult Aman, Adult Kartik, Aman is a goofy Van Helsing, Baby Aman, Baby Kartik, Basically stage kids grow up into theatre gays, Bonding, Boys Kissing, Boys in Skirts, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Sort of alternate universe?, Teen Romance, Teenage Kartik and Aman, Vampire Kartik isn't the Kartik you need but the Kartik you deserve, author is projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here/pseuds/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here
Summary: Kartik and Aman often joked that the stage was what brought them together. What happened backstage would leave memories in their mind for a very long time. Three chapters, spaced out over twenty years show glimpses of their relationship, with each other and with the (back)stage.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 45
Kudos: 51





	1. 1999: Six years

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a three part work, each chapter having a space of ten years in the middle. Enjoy!

Sunaina looked at the auditorium filled with starry eyed parents eagerly waiting for their kids to appear on stage. Many mothers were decked up in their best, makeup running a little due to the hot weather. Fathers sat in the second row, pretending that the India-Pakistan match they missed due to this function was more important, but every father’s eyes darted upward to the stage after a snatch of conversation featuring Tendulkar’s and Dravid’s legendary partnerships.

“Arre dekho meri beti stage par hai! Kalpana Chawla bani hai!” A mom pushed Sunaina’s face towards the stage.

_ (Hey look, here’s my daughter on the stage! She’s dressed up as Kalpana Chawla!”) _

“Kaun hai woh?” Her question got lost amongst a whole group of parents clapping and cheering.

_ (Who is she?) _

She sashayed across the stage in an orange jumpsuit and a helmet. Sunaina guessed that the mom would have hurriedly rushed to the tailor to get it made with ‘NASA’ fabric-painted patches stuck on the front. 

Her mind got lost in these musings, aided by the droning, sing-song speech delivered by the child. Her role was rather different, among this whole group of children role playing teachers, doctors, army officers, scientists. She regretted not picking up a unique role for Aman. He was  _ very _ insistent upon becoming a police officer.

“We’d like to invite the next student from first grade, Aman Tripathi!” The anchor announced. Sunaina’s ears pricked up in anticipation.

The stage looked desolate for half a minute. Red, blue green disco lights rushed in circles across the stage while the spotlight focused on a disappointingly _ bare _ patch of stage floor.

“Aman Tripathi, we’d like to call you upon the stage… Please come up here like a good boy.” The announcer said in a honey laced voice, bordering on saccharine. It was clear that she was losing her patience. All adults did, at some point or another, when it came to children.

Sunaina walked off backstage, bending downward so as to not get caught by the hungry bright stage lights.

....

Aman looked around, teachers were putting makeup on faces, running around like frenzied wild ducks. Kids were tugging restlessly on safety pins, headpieces, hair clips and scratchy fabric digging into shoulders, necks, scalps and foreheads. He never liked being in the midst of so much  _ activity. _

“Mummy aap kidhar ho…? Yeh halchal me mujhe nahi rehna…” He spoke to himself as he walked aimlessly, searching for a washroom. He wanted to crawl up inside a stall and cry. Meanwhile the teachers took attendance for one last time, before these pesky critters could return to the custody of their peskier parents.

_ (Where are you, mom…? This noise makes me feel bad…) _

“Abhishek?” “Yes teacher!”

“Aditi” “Yes! Tea...cher?”

“Akanksha?” “Yeeeessss teeeecher!”

“Aman?” No reply.

“Aman?” No reply yet again. The teacher’s face turned pale. She darted about, asking about Aman to his friends. 

“Aman ko kisi ne dekha?” 

_ (Did anyone see Aman?) _

“Nooooo teacher…” The entire class almost spoke in unison.

Though she knew that Aman was one of those kids who sat at the corner of the class, rarely talked to anyone. He didn’t seem to have many friends, and those who were didn’t seem to know much about him. 

...

Aman walked carefully towards the empty washrooms. Most  _ bhaiyas _ and  _ didis _ said that this place was haunted by  _ bhoot-pret _ . 

As he walked towards a stall, he heard a sniffling and a childish whimper, much like how Rajni didi would cry. Her cries often made Aman unable to sleep, but he knew that there was some unwritten rule saying that he couldn’t go up to her to give her a hug.

“Mummy idhar aao na please. Sacchi me idhar koi bhoot hai…” Aman almost started crying himself, but then he remembered papa telling him not to cry. 

_ (Mummy please come here… There’s a ghost for real in this place…) _

He carefully walked inside a stall and did his business. He peeked downward to pull up his pants when he saw a pair of small pink shoes in the next stall, much like his own green, small-sized ones.

“Hey tum roh rahe ho kya…?” Aman asked tremblingly. He could hear a loud sniff.

_ (Hey are you crying…?”) _

“Na...Nahi toh! Ki...Kisne bataya?” Another sniff.

_ (N...no!Wh....who told you?) _

“Rajni didi bhi aise hi rohti hai… tumhe kya hua?” The pink shoes walked out of the stall and Aman did too.

_ (Rajni also cries like this… what happened to you?) _

“Mujhe kuch nahi hua…” His face was hidden by a pair of small hands, one which had a fresh burn mark running from the little finger all the way down to the palm.

_ (Nothing…) _

“Toh phir yeh tumhare haath mei kya hua?” Aman touched his hand and he shrunk away, lip trembling because of the pain.

_ (So what’s that on your hand?) _

“Mai aaj subah ye shirt iron kar raha thha. Function ke liye.” Aman took his hand and blew on the burn gently, much like his mummy did. 

_ (I was ironing this shirt. For the function.) _

“Ab theek lag raha hai?” Aman continued blowing gently on his palm.

_ (Are you okay now?) _

“Uh… nahi!” His trembling mouth quivered with laughter.

_ (Uh...no!) _

“Arre, shaayad kaam nahi kiya kyu ki mai mummy nahi hoon…” Aman said naively. At this, a dark shadow came over the other boy’s face. Aman closely observed the other boy. He had a plastic yellow toy stethoscope around his neck and wore a ridiculously oversized shirt, cuffs hanging off his arms, stained green with tears and snot.

_ (Oh, maybe it’s because I’m not a mummy…) _

“Oye ye toh doctor ka coat nahi hai… Papa ki shirt chura li kya?” Aman lets out a laugh.

_ (Hey this is not a doctor’s coat… Did you steal your dad’s shirt?) _

“Haan, papa ki shirt hi mainey chura li. Aur yeh ste...sto...cope mainey teacher se li.” He says with glittering eyes, which now seemed to glimmer with something other than residual tears. Aman lets out a smile in reply.

_ (Yes, I stole my dad’s shirt. And I got this ste..sto..cope from my teacher.) _

“Waise tumhara naam kya hai? Kaunse section me padhte ho? Ye ste...sto...cope kaha se mila? Doctor kyu baney ho? Tumhari teacher kaun hai? Mere saath dosti karoge kya? Aur tumhara favourite cricketer kaun hai? Ye tumhara haath kaise theek hoga? Kya iss washroom me sacchi bhoot bhataktey hain?” Aman shot out a volley of questions, the kind which made Rajni didi grimace. Once Aman got comfortable talking to someone, there was no stopping him. The other boy’s eyes grew wider with each additional question, till the point all he could remember was  _ naam _ and  _ bhoot _ .

_ (By the way? What’s your name? Which section? Where did you get this ste...sto...cope from? Why are you a doctor? Who’s your teacher? Will you be my friend? Who’s your favourite cricketer? How will your hand be okay again? Do ghosts roam this washroom for real?) _

“Mera naam Kartik hai. Aur iss washroom me bhoot bhataktey hai…” He answered, wiping his nose with the sleeve.

_ (My name is Kartik. And this washroom has ghosts…) _

“Haaawww… toh phir idhar se bhaagna padega…” 

_ (Haaawww… so we need to run away from here…) _

“Abhi koi bhoot nahi hai. Mujhe pata hai.” He smiled at Aman.

_ (There’s no ghost now. I know.) _

“Eh tera shirt kitna chhi hai. Yeh le hankie. Iss par apni naak saaf kar lena.” The _ bhoot _ matter forgotten, Aman handed his handkerchief to Kartik.

_ (Eww your shirt is so dirty. Take this hankie. Wipe your nose on it.) _

…

“Aman! Kidhar ho beta?” Sunaina wandered through the corridor, looking for Aman. 

_ (Aman! Where are you?) _

“Oye chal idhar se nikalte hai. Meri mummy bula rahi hai.” Aman tugged at Kartik sleeve, careful to steer away from the damp green areas.

_ (Hey let’s get out of here. My mummy is calling.) _

“Aman beta! Kidhar thhe, mujhe tumhari kitni chinta ho rahi thhi…” Sunaina hugged Aman close. Her eyes were close to shedding tears as well. He hid his face in her mummy’s shining purple sari, which smelt of starch and talcum powder.

_ (Aman dear! Where were you? I was so worried…) _

“Dobaara aise duur mat jaana.” She parted Aman’s hair with her fingers and adjusted his police cap over his head. Kartik hid behind the washroom door, peeking at Aman, who was clearly annoyed with his mummy’s affectionate gestures.

_ (Don’t wander away like this.) _

“Wo darwaaze ke peeche kaun hai?” 

_ (Who’s there behind the door?) _

“Wo Kartik hai, mummy.”

_ (He’s Kartik, mummy.) _

“Idhar aao Kartik beta… Aman ke dost ho kya?”

_ (Come here, Kartik… Are you Aman’s friend?) _

At this, another teacher burst into the scene, clearly relieved that both Kartik and Aman were safe and sound. She glanced at Kartik, hiding behind the washroom door. He was also a bit of a shy child.

“Nahi aunty, mai Aman ka dost nahi hoon. Mai doosre section mei padhta hoon.” Aman’s smile faltered a bit at this.

_ (No aunty, I’m not Aman’s friend. I’m in a different section.) _

“Hey, tum dono, jaldi chalo. Programme ke end me tum dono ka performance lagaaya hai… pura schedule bigaad diya tum dono ne…” The teacher huffed and touched her ear, which had a makeup brush tucked behind it.

_ (Hey both of you, get going. I’ve fixed up both of your performances at the end of the schedule… You messed up the whole routine…) _

The two kids walked with bowed heads towards the stage. The show was nearing its end.

Both of them were the last to go on stage and each promptly forgot his own lines.

The parents were clearly unimpressed by seeing a whisp of a child wearing an oversized shirt roleplay a doctor, one who even forgot his own lines. 

Aman thought Kartik was the actual  _ bhoot _ . But this ghost was friendly, like Casper.

…

After Aman and Kartik were done with their performance, they sat together in the audience, not paying attention to the boring principal’s speech. They whispered among each other, lost in their own world.

“Waise police officer kyu baney ho?” Kartik asked Aman.

_ (Why are you a police officer?) _

“Mummy aur papa Amitabh Bachchan ki film dekh rahe thhe. Aur mai sofey ke neeche chhup chhup kar dekh raha thha. Maine Vijay ko dekha aur mujhe waise hi banna thha.”: Aman said decisively, as if no option other than Vijay was even  _ allowed _ to be entertained.

_ (Mummy and papa were watching Amitabh Bachchan’s film. I hid under the sofa and watched it from there. When I saw Vijay I decided I had to be like him.) _

…

  
“Kartik beta tum ghar kaise jaa rahe ho?” Sunaina asked him.

_ (Kartik dear how are you going home?) _

“Teacher ke saath jaa raha hoon.”

_ (I’m going with a teacher) _

“Mummy papa nahi aaye kya?” 

_ (Your mummy and papa didn’t come with you?) _

“Nahi, papa bahut busy hai aur mummy…” At this he gave a completely  _ blank _ look to Sunaina, as if the concept of  _ mummy _ was incomprehensible for him. It sent chills down Sunaina’s spine. Shankar was busy with his research, so he couldn’t come to function, but Kartik’s face seemed to indicate something else. She gave an awkward smile to Kartik.

_ (No, my papa is very busy and mummy…) _

Aman peered out from behind her golden sari pallu and rushed towards Kartik to give him a hug. Kartik was a little taller.

Over a few seconds, Kartik got used to the concept of a hug.

“Kal lunch break me milte hai!” Kartik’s face splits into two with the force of his smile.

_ (Let’s meet up at lunch break tomorrow!) _

Sunaina sighed from the background, realising that this freedom to express themselves  _ this  _ freely would be available to the two boys for the next three years at the most.

...


	2. 2009: Sixteen years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second part. Enjoy!

A huff of anticipation passed through the halls of the eleventh grade classrooms. The twelfth graders were glad that they were being taken seriously in the school’s administration for the first and last time. All for a last hurrah at the teachers who got on your case unnecessarily, the humans, named ‘classmates’ who dealt you more than enough amounts of emotional pain and maybe a friend or two.

It was going to be a day for the twelfth graders, but the eleventh graders were to be the ones who (attempted to) coordinate the colossal mess known as the ‘school farewell’. 

“Students, our class is responsible for the fifteen-minute play.” The English teacher woke Aman up from his daydreaming fit. 

Her words cut through the tangible stream of suspense. A lot of students had ideas racing in their minds while others were disappointed that they weren’t in charge of the fun and games.

Aman nudged Kartik sitting beside him. Kartik jerked up awake, looked at Aman and hurriedly tucked his hands under. He reluctantly removed his head from his (somewhat) comfortable arm-desk cradle. 

“Subah-subah kyu soh raha hai?” 

_ (Why are you sleeping early in the morning?)  _

Aman went silent as he saw Kartik’s red-rimmed eyes. Aman was sure something happened yesterday with his father. He was about to ask Kartik about it but he feared losing the idea in his head.

“Theek hai, woh baat chhodo, mere paas ek accha idea hai. School ke baad bataunga.” 

_ (That is okay, leave it. I have a good idea. I’ll tell you about it after school.) _

…

They loitered outside their dance classes waiting for Rajni. It was a harder fight for Kartik to attend these classes. But Kartik being Kartik, he wasn’t ready to go down without a fight. Rajni acted as his guardian and Kartik stole money from under the mattress, a little every third day over the whole month so that he could pay at the beginning of the next.

Money wasn’t the problem. Learning  _ dance _ was. His father who beat him up for colouring his hair a few years ago certainly wouldn’t allow his son to do that.

Kartik thought about the secrets between the three of them. Aman, Rajni and Kartik were indulgent of each others’ secrets, but chose not to speak them out loud fearing the violation of a silent pact. Anyway, in all forms, Indian culture dictated that everything should be swept under the carpet. Kartik stared at the long burn mark on his little finger.

He learnt dance on stolen money.

Aman collected posters of Sachin Tendulkar, especially the ones where he looked a little too boyish with his brown curls and without his cricket bat. And of MS Dhoni, especially the ones in which he had long, flowing hair.

Rajni wore kajal under her sunglasses. She always laid the kajal a little too thick under the lash line of her white glass eye. 

Aman broke his train of thought.

“Yaad hai, subah ko teacher ne kya bataya thha? Aur maine kya kaha thha?”

_ (Do you remember what the teacher said to us in the morning? And what I said in reply?) _

“Arre yaad dilaade yaar.” He let out a nervous smile. Kartik always failed Aman’s ‘Do you remember?’ tests.

_ (Remind me please…) _

“Abey saale bhulakkad.” Aman gave a slight  _ thwack  _ to Kartik’s head. Kartik’s head bent downward, and in that brief moment Aman felt his tough, gravity-defying hair against his soft fingers. That touch suddenly made him curious, as if he wanted to take his time exploring the rough texture of Kartik’s hair. He wanted to stretch that microsecond of contact into a minute, maybe even two.

_ (You forgetful idiot.) _

“Wo farewell me apna section play ke liye responsible hai na, usi ke liye idea aaya thha.”

_ (Our section is responsible for the play, right? I had an idea for that.) _

They drove back home on Rajni’s scooter, Aman chattering excitedly on the backseat with Kartik. Kartik could only listen to one word out of ten, with Rajni swearing at every irresponsible pedestrian and driver. Also, the backs of Aman’s thighs brushing against his stole away every scrap of attention he could afford to pay to his words.

...

Aman elaborated upon his plan with Kartik when they were in his room together. The posters of Dravid, Dhoni, Tendulkar (Those  _ acceptable _ ones, where they lifted their cricket bat in the air, with pure  _ triumph _ shining on their faces) frowned at him. The posters seemed to develop harder lines around the eyes and thicker, more angled eyebrows in the white tube light. 

Kartik loved the idea. But there was an inherent penalty involved in it. He would have to do it secretly, away from the wary glances of his father. Those glances, which were terrified of his son yet wanted to inflict terror on him. For being a blasphemer in the godly court of Normal-Dev. 

Most things apart from worshipping cricketers and being obsessively focused on studies involved inherent penalties for sensitive boys like Kartik and Aman.

…

“Yeh kaisa wahiyat idea hai? Mujhe ladki ka role nahi karna!” Somebody burst out in words of violent opposition.

_ (What sort of an idea is this? I don’t want to play a girl’s role!) _

“Mujhe bhi nahi! Humlog saare doosra script likh lenge!” 

_ (Me neither! We’ll write a different script!) _

“Lekin ladkiyon ko iss play me interest hai!” Kartik replied.

_ (But the girls are interested to take part!) _

“Hoga hi na! Unko toh  _ ladkon _ ka role play karna hai.”

_ (That is obvious. They’ll play the roles for  _ **_men_ ** _ after all.) _

“Arre tumlog dono ko ladki kyu banna hai? Ki actually mei ladki ho?” He snickered.

_ (Why are both of you so interested in becoming girls? Or are you girls for real?) _

“Aise bekaar sawaal mat karo. Shakespeare ke zamaane se ladke ladkiyon ke kirdaar bannte aa rahe hai.” Aman shot back while Kartik shrunk at the vile comment. 

_ (Don’t ask such stupid questions. Men have been playing the parts of women since Shakspeare’s era.) _

“Keep quiet! I thought you people would converse in English at least in the  _ English  _ period… And yes, men have been playing the roles of women all the way from Shakespeare’s era. Even before that, in the Greek and Roman civilisations. I find this idea very interesting. I’ll see to it that it gets on the stage, but I’ll need a cracking script for  _ this  _ show.” She said the last sentence looking directly at Aman and Kartik.

After much debate and opposition, the whole class got divided into two factions. One side had Aman, Kartik, Devika and all the girls while the other had all the boys minus Kartik and Aman.

“Okay then, this section will put up two plays, of seven minutes each. That is final.” She knew which group had the talent. The other group had formed just in an aggressive reaction.

She let out a gentle smile. Every year there was a child or two in her class who was different, who wasn’t afraid to question what was supposed to remain unquestioned. She had made it a point to support them. That’s what her subject was for.

…

“Accha, advertisement toh tum dono ne kar liya. Lekin actual script kaun likhega?” Devika questioned the two boys, who stood there with sheepish faces.

_ (Okay, now that you’ve done the advertising, who will write the script?) _

“Sahi baat hai, filhaal tum dono se yahi idea aaya hai ki ladke ladkiyon ka role play karenge aur ladkiyan ladkon ka.” Anjana retorted.

_ (That’s correct, so far the only idea that’s come out of you two is that the boys will play the roles of the girls and vice versa.) _

“Arre aadarniya deviyan, humari help kar dena. Please. Overexcitement me script me actually kya hoga socha hi nahi. Apne paas sirf bees din ka waqt hai” Kartik replied.

_ (Respected goddesses, please help us. I did NOT think about what will actually happen in the script. We only got twenty days.) _

“Haan please, all of us know that both of you are the better writers.” Aman said.

_ (Yes please, we know that both of you are the better writers…) _

“Theek hai phir. Farewell ka function hai, toh zyada serious matter par nahi likhenge. People just want to have fun on that day.” 

_ (It’s okay then. It’s the farewell function, so we won’t write about any serious issues. People just want to have fun on that day.) _

A few rejected ideas later (the most ridiculous ideas came from Kartik), they found the perfect plot. 

“Classroom romance par likhe kya?” Anjana owned her lightbulb moment.

_ (Should we write a script about classroom romance?) _

“Yes!” Three voices spoke up in unison. 

Four days later they arrived at school with photocopies of the script. All four of them had differential amounts of blue ink stains on their hands. Kartik looked at their group with a crazed smile and began rehearsals.

…

“Aman mujhe lines yaad karwadey na… Yaad hi nahi ho raha.” Kartik rested his head on Aman’s shoulder and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Aman’s heart raced and eyes darted about to the open door, expecting Rajni or his mother to dash in at any moment.

_ (I simply cannot remember these lines, Aman. Please help me…) _

“Theek hai, aisi billi ki tarah mujhe na ghoor.” Aman bit his lip to prevent the smile from escaping.

_ (Okay then, don’t stare at me like that.) _

Out of them both, Kartik was the more affectionate. He often laid his arms around Aman’s waist, or put his head on Aman’s shoulder. It was always done in a moment of pretense, drama or jest, but Aman always felt like his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Kartik’s deep glances at Aman with a raised eyebrow and lips angled  _ just _ a little never failed to set Aman’s heart aflutter with feelings. Feelings of what kind, he did not know. Was this the  _ difference _ his ever-absent scientist father had warned him about, when he told Aman to stay away from Kartik?

“So lets start, shall we?” 

Aman and Kartik had their math books laid out in front of them and pretended to study whenever Rajni or Aman’s mummy came in to check up on them. They worked on lines in hushed, rasping whispers which died (or became ridiculously high pitched) on the lips of their breaking voices. Aman let out a nervous giggle. Kartik was never good at remembering lines.

“Aise nahi chalega. Dialogues kal subah school me yaad kar lenge. Abhi acting par dhyaan dete hai.” Aman said decisively.

_ (It’s not gonna happen like this. We’ll work on the dialogues in school tomorrow. Let’s do the acting for now.) _

“Acting toh normally hi karna hai na…” 

_ (The acting has to be done normally right?) _

“Arre nahi, waise karega toh pura play kharaab ho jayega. Tereko  _ ladki _ ka role play karna hai, na ki kisi ladke ka jisne skirt pehna hai.  _ Feeling _ lana zaroori hai.” Aman winked.

_ (Oh no, we’re going to trash it if you do it like that. You have to play the role of a girl, not a boy in a skirt. Getting the  _ **_feeling_ ** _ right is important.) _

“Abey woh kaise karte hai?”

_ (Now how the hell is that done?) _

“Chal dikhata hoon.” With these words, Aman caught hold of Kartik’s wrists and hips. Kartik’s skin erupted in gooseflesh and he got transported to when Aman had held him like this before, a year ago.

_ (I’ll show you.) _

...

_ “Orey grihobashi, khol dwar khol… Iss par yeh step karna hai, uske baad… laaglo jei dol...” Aman said these words in a bad Bengali accent. ‘Grihobashi’ became ‘grihavaasi’. _

_ (Hey you householder, open your doors! You have to do this step here, then…) _

_ Aman held Kartik’s waist and guided him through. They had to perform after a few days and Kartik still hadn’t gotten hold of most of the steps. He had been absent from classes for a whole week and then returned with darker eyes and an expression hardened with more resolution.  _

_ “Arre udhar mat chhuna, dard ho raha hai.” Kartik winced as Aman touched his side. _

_ (Don’t touch me there, it hurts.) _

_ “Kya hua? Ya phir yeh Bangali gaane se problem ho raha hai?”  _

_ (What happened? Or do you have a problem with this Bengali song?) _

_ Aman attempted a smile to lighten the mood. Every year their teacher made them dance to a Bengali song. This year it was a holi Rabindra sangeet.  _

_ “Arre nahi re, gaane se koi problem nahi hai… Bas maar khaakar aa raha hoon. Iss baar thoda zyada ho gaya.” _

_ (It’s nothing, no problem...only I got dealt a few blows. It was a little too much pain this time.) _

_ Aman’s eyes saddened. He looked at Kartik, offering his silent understanding. He knew no words that could convey all that he wanted to, in this very moment. The note swung and flowed in the last ‘khol’, adding gravity and significance. _

_ And then, Kartik knew exactly what kind of doors were meant in ‘khol dwar khol’. _

_ … _

“Take small steps like these, swing your hips a little like how girls do...Thoda overacting hai lekin drama me yeh sab dikhaana padega. Kartik tu meri baat sunn raha hai?” Aman waved his hands in front of Kartik’s face, dragging his attention back to the present.

_ (Take small steps like these, swing your hips a little like how girls do… It’s a little too much but it’s drama after all. Are you listening to me Kartik?) _

Kartik shook his head and quivered, still finding one of Aman’s hands on his waist.

…

The backstage was chaotic. The couple of extras from the primary section added to the frenzy. Aman could  _ smell _ the clouds of cheap face powder,  _ hear _ the scritch-scratch of eyebrow pencil and _ taste _ the English teacher’s overly fruity perfume. Both groups of students were busy with their preparations.

Aman and Kartik were the only ones who came without being dressed in costume. Their bags contained a couple of stolen bras, stolen school shirts and skirts (From Rajni, Devika and Anjana respectively) and four dried mango stones wrapped in cotton handkerchiefs to substitute for breast prostheses. Don’t forget the scratchy wigs.

“Bhaiya mera makeup kar do na… Baaki saari didiyan busy hain. Devika didi ne kaha ki aapko makeup karna aata hai...” A primary schooler, a foot and a half shorter tugged on Aman’s shirt. He carried a bunch of makeup supplies in his arms. Yes, he learnt how to do his own makeup (from Rajni) so that he could save time backstage. He decided to have some fun.

_ (Hey please do my makeup… All the girls are busy. Devika told me that you know how to do makeup.) _

He borrowed the makeup supplies from the kid and laid a  _ very  _ thick layer of makeup all over his face. Aman applied blood red lipstick on his lips and painted red lipstick patches over his cheeks, Noddy-style, to make it look like the capillaries under his skin exploded in almost perfect circles as  _ violent _ blushies. Aman couldn’t keep the manic smile off his face. Kartik appeared from behind and gave a mighty heave, as if he was about to puke.

The child was positively horrified.

“Bhaiya yeh aapne kya kiya!”

_ (What ever did you do?) _

“Sahi kaam kiya hai. Pata chala ki bhari makeup lagana bahut zaroori hai, nahi toh school magazine mei tumhari photo nahi aayegi.” Aman bluffed shamelessly. Kartik let out a silent slow clap from behind, and aimed a ‘You’re a fucking genius’ thumbs-up to Aman.

_ (I did this correctly. I came to know that heavy makeup is very important, otherwise the school magazine won’t feature your picture in it.) _

The child was considerably mollified at the thought of school-magazine fame. He disappeared among the other people. Maybe the backstage made everyone a little too forgiving.

“Chal Aman, abhi apni baari hai.” Kartik took their bags and rushed to the nearest classroom, converted into a temporary green room.\

_ (Lets go Aman, it’s our turn now.) _

Aman was struggling with the skirt, when he started having second thoughts about the whole thing. It was the first time he did something like this, and no,  _ bharatnatyam _ did not count. 

“Yeh bra pehenna thoda zyada nahi ho gaya? That too filling it with mango stones?” He asked Kartik hesitantly. 

_ (Isn’t the bra a little too much? That too filling it with mango stones?) _

“Sunn. Humlog jo karne jaa rahe hai na, yeh iss school ki history mei  _ bahut _ zyada hai. Isme  _ thoda _ zyada ka koi meaning hi nahi hai, bro.” Aman felt a little bit of reassurance creep up his chest. These were indeed minor things when compared to the whole premise of the play.

_(Listen to me. What we’re doing is very extra_ _in the history of this school. A little too much makes no sense here, bro.)_

“Chal ab makeup ki baari hai. Jo ki mujhe bilkul nahi aata.” Aman replied with a ‘watch me’ wink as Kartik stared into the tiny mirror. Aman unscrewed the cap of the eyeliner and stared in  _ horror _ at the glittery turquoise blue stick.

_ (Okay, now it’s makeup-time. And I don’t know shit.) _

“Abey dhakkan kaala hai yeh eyeliner blue kyu hai? Mereko refund chahiye… Kaisa dhokhebaaz eyeliner hai...” He whined.

_ (Why must this happen to me? This black cap conceals this traitorous blue eyeliner… I need a refund...) _

  
  


“Arre woh sab chhod abhi jo apne paas hai usse kaam chalana padega. Ek ghante mei stage par jaana hai, aur sab koi pehle se taiyaar hai.”

_ (Leave that be, we need to hurry up. We got to be on stage in an hour.) _

Aman delicately held Kartik’s jaw and felt the few thin hairs growing on the chin. He told him to first look upward and then close his eyes. He pulled Kartik’s eyelid downward and his tongue poked out in concentration. He finished lining Kartik’s eyes and immediately Kartik’s face  _ changed. _

“By mistake, lekin tu bahut accha dikh raha hai.” Kartik’s eyes showed multitudes of brown hues and his pupils were of a darker shade. The turquoise eyeliner suited him really well. Aman was positively captivated by Kartik’s almond-eyes. He thought that he was looking at Kartik’s eyes for the very first time. Aman looked at the glossy surface of his eyes and lost himself in them for the longest few seconds.

_ (It’s really a mistake, but you’re looking very good.) _

“Thanks…” Kartik blushed at his sincere words and broke contact with Aman’s big round eyes. He played with the edge of his skirt.

Aman and Kartik stood in the opposite wings. The minute before they went onstage was the most nerve wracking ever. Kartik tried to make Aman laugh by playing with his hair and being overly flirty. Aman knew that the people sitting in the very last column on the left and right could see his and Kartik’s antics. His wig felt as if it had turned into a cactus.

“Now we have a play by the students of eleventh grade. It’s titled ‘A Romance of the Innocent.’” The anchor called out.

Aman stood dead silent. His intestines felt like they would eject violently out of his mouth. 

…

Once Aman was off the stage, a deep sense of calm washed over his body like a wave. He went out of the classroom into the empty corridor. And spied a human missile launching itself into his path.

Kartik tackled him in an aggressive, full body hug. Aman got high on the cocktail of dopamine and serotonin rushing through his veins. Kartik continued holding him and Aman’s heartbeat got faster by the millisecond.

“Arre humari play sabko bahut bahut bahut bahut bahut acchi lagi! Seniors tareef karte nahi thak rahe… Teachers ko bhi accha laga. Suna ki manhoos principal ke shakal par bhi smile aa gayi…”

_ (You know, everyone’s become a fan of our play… They really really really really really liked it! The seniors only have praises upon their lips for us. I heard that even the prickly principal had a smile on his face…” _

“Accha, aisa kya..” Kartik wrapped his arm around Aman’s shoulder.

_ (Oh, is that it…) _

“Haan bro! Woh jo part thha na, jisme meri crush Devika ya Dev Anand jo bhi bolo, mere bag me chocolate daalti hai aur tum usse chup-chaap nikal kar kha lete ho… Everybody had big idiot grins on their faces at that moment.” 

Aman let out a snicker. Devika had been rechristened as Dev Anand by Kartik after she played her role as Kartik’s crush. Devika had named Kartik as Kritika and that set off another one of their legendary fights.

_ (Yes, bro! That part, in which my character’s crush Devika or Dev Anand or whatever places a chocolate inside my bag, and you eat it without me noticing… Everyone had big idiot smiles on their faces at that moment.) _

That was the first time Aman felt confused between his role and the real life Aman. He was supposed to feel jealous for Devika’s character, but he found his eyes veered towards Kartik as if they had a mind of their own.

Aman let out a big smile and allowed Kartik’s spontaneity to infect him. He continued chattering and all Aman paid attention to was how Kartik’s eyes glittered with residual happiness. 

Suddenly, Kartik folded Aman into a hug and kissed his cheek. Aman felt a sharp bolt of electricity travel down his neck and spill over into his chest. The corridor was deserted.

“Mujhe tumhe kuch batana thha. Come with me.” Now it was Kartik’s turn for his heart to leap out of his chest. He intertwined his fingers with Aman and led him to the nearest washroom. Aman followed him because as always, Kartik left him no other choice.

_ (I had to tell you something. Come with me.) _

“Pata hai, isse better jagah dhund sakta thha par…” Kartik shrugged. Aman looked around at the spotless washroom and his eyes finally settled on Kartik’s.

_ (I know, I could have found a better place but…) _

“Kya kehna chahte ho?”

_ (What do you want to say?) _

“Erm… kaise bataun…uh...” Kartik blushed. He put a piece of paper in Aman’s hand, closed Aman’s fingers around it and pushed him inside the nearest stall. He locked the door from the outside.

_ (Erm...how do I go about it... uh) _

“Oye darwaaza khol!” Aman banged the door.

_ (Hey open the door!) _

“Shaant reh na… pehle letter toh padh le.” Kartik replied, clearly exasperated.

_ (At least read the goddamn letter…) _

Aman spent a whole ten minutes reading and rereading the three page letter. He knew for certain that Kartik was going to kill him one day, because of the rate his heartbeat sped due to that idiot.

“Arre marr gaye kya? Nurse ko bulaun?” 

_ (Did you die? Should I call the nurse?) _

Kartik looked worried. He opened the door and Aman rushed into his arms. Both of them spent a few minutes in each other’s embrace. Kartik laid his head on Aman’s shoulder and rocked him gently. He let out a soft hum in appreciation.

Aman knew that Kartik was going to be his first kiss. 

He looked into Kartik’s eyes, really  _ looked  _ at the bare affection he had for him. He gently touched his nose to Kartik’s and kissed his cheek. He held the back of Kartik’s head and caught his lips in a kiss. In a beautifully messy, uncoordinated, sloppy kiss.

_ When you finish reading this letter, kiss me if you want to. _

_ Yours, Kartik. _

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me. It's 2.37 am and the author is running on...nothing. Tell me if you liked it. I did take quite a lot of liberties with this chapter. No Indian school would allow a gender-bend classroom romance play hehe.


	3. 2019: Twenty Six years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update... My laptop crashed and I had to type over half of this on my phone. Anyway, it's a labour of love :')  
> Enjoy!

“Hmm, I heard that we’re putting up a show combined with another troupe?” Kartik asked.

“Yes, they’re coming in tomorrow.” Kartik’s face soured. It would take all of them quite some time to adjust. Whispers of ‘Aman Tripathi’ went around the place, but Kartik didn’t pay attention because it was a fairly common name. The last time he had seen  _ his _ Aman Tripathi was about ten years ago.

But still, Kartik, upon hearing that name coupled with the intimate  _ his _ experienced shivers down his spine.

…

The next evening, Aman Tripathi,  _ his  _ Aman Tripathi came striding into the hall. Kartik’s brain stopped and he could see it exiting his skull to take a step back.

He was rather averagely built, with beautiful dark skin and twinkling brown eyes. Kartik noticed that he still had a wisp of his teenage adorableness about him. He wore a stubble and a single earring in his left ear.

Aman caught Kartik’s eyes while they were caught in another distant memory of him.

When their eyes met, the combined weight of a decade of memories together and another separated physically, put arms between them and stopped their strides. 

“Aman?” Kartik broke the silence. Aman could only nod. 

He immediately became fixated upon the pleasant lilt in his voice, when it pitched downward to take his name, then hesitantly nudged upward to phrase it like a question.

…

“Welcome to my house! Enter freely. Go safely, and  _ leave _ something of the happiness you bring!” Kartik’s dripping, evil voice made chills run down Aman’s spine.

“Sorry, character acting thoda zyada ho gaya na?” Kartik replied with a sheepish smile.

“Haan pata hai tujhe  _ Count Voivode Dracula _ banna hai, lekin aise daraa mat yaar.” Aman slipped back into easy familiarity, an old habit with Kartik.

_ (Yes, I know you have to play the part of Count Voivode Dracula, but I was genuinely terrified for a moment.) _

“Okay, phir se try karte hai….hello Aman!” Kartik gave him a big smile. 

_ (Okay then let’s try again… hello Aman!) _

Aman entered Kartik’s immaculately furnished apartment. He put his shoes beside the doorway and took in the smell of jasmine-scented room freshener. He immediately noticed a copy of Dracula, the novel and a photocopy of the script. Aman wondered how many times the librettist would have had to run between these absent minded actors and sides, straddling the real and the dreamlike.

"Accha, you've read Dracula?" Aman asked.

_ (Okay, you've read Dracula?) _

"Haan bahut pehle padhi thhi, dobaara padh raha hoon. Character mei ghusne ke liye." 

_ (Yes, I had read it a long time ago. I'm reading it again. To get into character.) _

"Oh ho, waise bhi tereko ek buddhey ka role play karna hai. Forget about lovely 'behind the scenes' pictures." Kartik winked. They fell back into their habit of bickering, the ten years of separation vanished like mangoes in the May heat.

_ (Oh ho, anyway you have to play the role of an old man. Forget about lovely 'behind the scenes' pictures.) _

"Tch, Van Helsing is  _ the _ best character in this novel okay? Woh nahi hota toh yeh novel exist nahi karta. Waise bhi book mei you're ancient as hell too, with  _ hairy palms _ ." Aman shuddered.

_ (Tch, Van Helsing is  _ **_the_ ** _ best character in this novel okay? The novel wouldn't exist without him. You're ancient as hell in the book too, with  _ **_hairy palms.)_ **

"Haan par everyone likes sexy vampires. Sexy vampire nahi hoga toh apna show chalega kaise? Waise ye Van Helsing ke baare mei thoda aur batana…"

_ (Yes but everyone likes sexy vampires. Whole shows run on the backs of the 'sexy vampire' trope okay? Anyway tell me more about Van Helsing...) _

"Okay Van Helsing iss novel ka sabse intelligent character hai. Though I'll disagree. My disagreement bears the name of 'Mina Harker'. Dutch banda hai, kaafi ajeeb tareeke se baatein karta hai. Matlab sentence structure ka koi ata pataa nahi hai... Over sixty years old, no wife, no children, in the book."

_ (Okay, Van Helsing is the most intelligent character in this novel. Though I'll disagree. My disagreement bears the name of 'Mina Harker'. He's a Dutch guy, with no sense of sentence structure… over sixty years old, no wife, no children, in the book.) _

"Pakka gay hoga. No wife, no children, wo bhi 19th century England mei." Kartik let out a giggle.

_ (I swear he's gay. No wife, no children, that too in 19th century England.) _

"Itna kuch bataya, sirf wahi dimaag me ghusa?" Aman gave him an adorably exasperated smile.

_ (I told you so much about him, this is the only thing that stuck?) _

"Haan na, nahi toh aise dialogue kaun deta hai…? Kartik furiously flipped pages around the book, looking for a dialogue.

_ (Yes, otherwise who talks like that…?) _

"Found it! It goes like this, 'He took in his stalwart proportions and recognised the strong young manhood… His eyes gleamed." Kartik giggled. 

"Point toh hai. I can't read a single Van Helsing dialogue in the book without laughing. I agree, context wagairah important hai lekin aise kaun baat karta hai yaar? And Lucy and Mina are the most convincing couple in the whole novel." After that Aman spent some time digging in the novel, looking for Mina's parts. Both heartily laughed at the overly pompous dialogue.

_ (You have a point. I can't read a single thing uttered by Van Helsing without laughing. I agree, context etc. is important but who the hell talks like that? And Lucy and Mina are the most convincing couple in the whole novel.) _

They walked around the apartment, practising dance steps and dialogues, returning many times to Kartik’s balcony, chock full of colourful potted plants. Kartik had selected plants that were easy to grow, because of his busy schedule.

"Tch, I can't pull off this man's laughter, that too of the evil type. Ekdum Raavan jaisa sound karunga yaar." Kartik complained. 

_ (Tch, I can't pull off this man's laughter, that too of the evil type. I'll totally sound like Raavan.) _

"Man's laughter' ko 'manslaughter' bana de. Ho jayega." Kartik snorted, reacting to Aman's words.

_ (Think of 'man's laughter’ as 'manslaughter'. You'll get there.) _

"Accha, pata nahi tha tera sense of humour itna dark hai…" 

_ (Okay, I did not know you had such a dark sense of humour…) _

"Mere baare me tujhe bahut kuch janna baaki hai." Aman winked, but Kartik was bent over the script.

_ (There's a lot left for you to know about me.) _

Kartik sat down on the red plastic chair in the balcony, while Aman moved around, inspecting every plant. Kartik  _ knew _ which plant got harassed unnecessarily by almost everyone. The pink blooms with soft white-tipped bristles looked like bursting sparklers, adding to Aman’s curiosity.

"What did the touch-me-not say to the human?" Aman asked, aggressively touching the drooping leaves of that plant. Kartik thought for a while, not able to answer.

"Tu hi bata de…"  __

_ (Tell me yourself…) _

" _ Leaf _ me alone!" 

Both of them spent a peaceful hour in the balcony, looking at pots of purple funnel-like rose balsam, pink periwinkles, bushes of red-yellow-green crotons and spiky grey green spider plants. There was a tiny kitchen garden growing in the corner, with coriander, curry leaves and bitter gourd.

“Of all the vegetables in the world, you decide to grow  _ karela.”  _ Aman said, scrunching his nose after looking at those bumpy, ridged abominations that paraded as vegetables. Those words were aided by Aman raising his arms skyward in disbelief.

“Abhi bhi kareley se nafrat hai?” Kartik asked.

_ (You still hate eating bitter gourd?) _

Those words from Kartik prompted an hour of them reminiscing about their school days. The stolen dance lessons, school plays and pranks. They talked about the school farewell play, for which they had gotten praised yet were bullied for quite a few months.

A lot was left unsaid, better left to the poets who trooped in between the lines. 

Aman’s and Kartik’s faces turned increasingly wistful. Both of them knew what was on each other’s mind yet decided not to bring those words upon their lips.

It concerned first kisses and first relationships.

…

That night Aman lay awake in bed, thinking about Kartik. How providence had made their paths cross again. Both went to colleges in different cities and had drifted apart. Aman thought about his teenage relationship with Kartik, not being able to decide whether the break up was more painful or maintaining the relationship was. Secret dealings in empty chemistry labs and half open rooms held their charm for only so long until they became a burden. 

Kartik had grown more graceful, filling out his long boned body much better than what it was ten years ago. He had tattoos on his arm and neck, and wore a nose ring. Aman stored that image of the nose ring in some deep recess of his heart, where he could admit without shame that Kartik looked beautiful wearing it. Shame, which he had fought against for years but still made his throat sting with sharp shards of fear.

Aman had a lot of trouble getting to sleep that night.

…

Three weeks had passed in rehearsal. They had perfected their dance routines and camaraderie was slowly built up between the two troupes. Today was the first show and the backstage was in its usual violent frenzy.

Their adaptation of Dracula was a dance drama with minimal dialogue. Granted, the original Dracula worked well in the novel format only. They had taken their liberties with the plot, which included completely removing the macabre Renfield’s character.

Actors roamed about backstage carrying water bottles and cakes of face powder.

"Aasiya, entry cues yaad hai na?" Kartik asked Aasiya, who was playing the role of Lucy. She twirled around a band of black velvet, which she had to wear around her neck. 

_ (Aasiya, you remember your entry cues, right?) _

"Jonathan, escape dance sequence yaad hai na?" 

_ (Jonathan, you remember the escape dance sequence?) _

"Mina Harker, you know what to do." Kartik winked at her.

"Van Helsing, actually I don't need to tell you anything. Tujhe sab yaad rehta hai." Kartik gave Aman a gentle smile.

_ (Van Helsing, actually, I don't need to tell you anything. You have a really good memory.) _

Aman looked at Kartik in his vampire costume. He wore blood red lipstick which extended a little over his lips to make it look like they were dripping blood. It appeared almost black in the dim lights of the green room. He wore fake teeth, to make his canines appear sharper. 

He had removed his nose ring and wore amber contact lenses. All of this was to contribute to the trope.

"I am so glad that ki yeh aaine mei LED bulbs hai. Imagine people doing this forty years ago… Wo yellow bulb ki heat sei makeup hi melt ho jata hoga, nahi?" Kartik talked absentmindedly, applying bone white face powder to his clean shaven face to make it appear deathly pale.

_ (I'm so glad that these vanity mirrors have LED lights. Imagine people doing this forty years ago… I swear the makeup would have melted off their faces because of incandescent bulb heat.) _

"Ekdum sexy vampire lag raha hoon na?" He asked Aman, who blushed a little. It wasn't visible behind the short beard he had grown for playing Van Helsing.

…

The scrim parted and the play started with Jonathan visiting Dracula's castle. The atmosphere was slowly built up using red lights and smoke machines. The lights were dimmed with the spotlight shifted just a little away from Dracula to cast deeper, more dangerous shadows over him.

The sequence where Jonathan ran away from Dracula's castle began, with frantic music, tritones and a steady, droning chant of 'denn die todten reiten schnell' in the background. 

_ (For the dead travel fast.) _

The lights switched on and off with no observable pattern. When they switched back on, the audience would find Jonathan and Dracula in completely different positions on stage, adding to the apprehension.

Dracula and Jonathan danced around the stage in a cat and mouse chase as if their lives depended on it. 

Aman’s character inserted itself on stage in the middle of the show. He danced on the stage, hovering around Lucy.

The next scene stood out in everyone’s memories, when Dracula entered Lucy’s room to bite her. The smoke on the stage thickened, the white lights created wavy pillars in it. The red lights blinked, in anticipation of Dracula’s entrance. Aman had placed the garlic flower props around Lucy’s bed to ward off the evil, yet another character had come in and removed them in a fell swoop, complaining of bad odour.

Aman and Kartik were on opposite ends on the stage and pulled on ropes attached to a series of pulleys fixed overhead. It set off a metal and cloth bat flying ominously in circles over the stage. It was supposed to be Dracula in bat form flying around Lucy’s room. 

One of the white lights stilled, and slowly increased in brightness. It became a floating ball of almost solid, yet flickering light amidst the smoke, signaling Dracula’s materialisation inside the room.

Aman observed Kartik from the backstage. The stage created an atmosphere of dense, lethargic red-grey miasma, aided by the wavering, fainting Lucy. Kartik’s sheer decadent voluptuousness was nothing short of a true  _ nosferatu.  _ His amber eyes radiated a spark of the malevolent kind and his sparse dialogue was spoken in a syrupy, dense voice punctuated with evil smirks. The edges of his canines shone with careless red lines.

He danced around the stage with bent shoulders in slow, languorous moves, regarding Lucy with a jarring playfulness. He didn’t approach Lucy directly, but he moved in semi circles putting on airs of arrogance. 

Aman couldn’t stop the breath hitching in his throat. Kartik looked incredibly sexy as Dracula.

Lucy was still in a trance upon the bed. She shivered with detached, amputated terror. Dracula nudged closer to her and bit her neck. He lingered over her neck for a few seconds as he drank her blood. Aman’s pupils dilated as he observed the two characters, caught in an intimate, almost  _ loving _ embrace.

The lights switched off and the scene changed.

At the end, Dracula was killed by a stake to the heart. The lights changed, with the nervous reds and greys turning into comfortable yellows and blues. The smoke dissipated and the show ended.

…

Everyone got off stage after taking a bow. Aman had the post performance high still rushing in his bloodstream. He had a plan, and he had to act fast. 

Kartik found a bunch of peach coloured roses on his dressing table. One of them on the side was dark blood red in colour, conspicuously similar to the shade of lipstick he had worn. The roses were tied together with a white ribbon, which had a card dangling off the end.

_ From your admirer. _

The large loopy handwriting reminded him of someone. Granted, the loops were much neater than the hasty scrawls they earlier used to be. 

He hurriedly removed his false teeth and his ghastly pale makeup. His face came to life, taking its usual rosy calamine shade when he washed the white face powder off. He replaced the ring on his nose.

Kartik hoped dearly he wasn't making a mistake. 

...

Aman's doorbell rang and it sent a nervous thrum through his entire body. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. He thought that Kartik wouldn't recognise the giver of the bouquet of flowers.

_ He could be coming in for different reasons as well. _ He urged himself to stop over thinking.

His heart bobbed like an ice cube on water when he saw Kartik carrying the very same bouquet.

"Okay, kisi ne mujhe ye gift kiya. I didn't have the heart to leave it in the hall." Kartik's eyes shone mischievously. Aman decided to continue the game. He urged Kartik to come in. Kartik entered the flat and set the flowers on the table.

_ (Okay, somebody gifted this to me. I didn't have the heart to leave it in the hall.) _

"Hoga koi admirer. You do make for quite a dashing vampire. Aise bol rahe ho ki aaj tak kabhi kisi sei phool miley hi nahi." Aman refused to believe that such a handsome guy wouldn't have gotten flowers from anyone.

_ (Must be some admirer of yours. You do make for quite a dashing vampire. You're telling me as if you've never gotten flowers from anyone.) _

"Phool toh bahut miley hai, lekin ye wala kuch alag lag raha hai. Kind of special."

_ (I've gotten quite a lot of flowers, but this one seems to be special.) _

"Hmm, okay. Tum phoolon ke baare me sochte raho, mai take out order karke akele khaa raha hoon."

_ (Hmm, okay. You keep thinking about those flowers, I'll order take out by myself.) _

…

Half an hour later, they were comfortably seated with boxes of chicken noodles. 

The air became denser with unresolved feelings as they had to dig deeper into empty boxes for noodles.

Aman cleared the plates and sat down on the couch beside Kartik.

Aman noticed Kartik's tattoo on his arm. It was an intricate design. He noticed the feminine left half and the masculine right half of the Ardhanarishwara. His arm unconsciously raised towards Kartik's to trace Shiva's third eye.

Kartik's heightened senses noticed Aman's featherlight touches over his arm. His breath stuttered. He lingered in Aman's touch, not saying anything because he knew that Aman would withdraw if he did so.

His head bent dangerously close towards Aman's shoulder. 

"Kya hua?" Kartik asked.

_ (What happened?) _

"Suno, baatein kal karenge. Right now, just stay here with me."

_ (Listen, we'll talk tomorrow. Right now, just stay here with me.) _

Kartik kissed Aman's forehead and held him close. Aman fell asleep over Kartik's shoulder.

He bent his neck towards the balcony. The sight of a full moon obscured by a few grey clouds greeted his eyes. The dark grey sky shone with a silver edge.

"Chandni raat, badi dair ke baad aayi hai…" he hummed softly, carefully not to wake Aman up.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, someone please explain my obsession with writing Kartik as mythical creatures. I'm sorry if this chapter is too gratuitous as a result.  
> I read Dracula many months ago, and I speed reread it for this chapter.  
> Dedication, haha... Who knew Bram Stoker's story would get repurposed (poorly) 123 years later by a desi gay on the internet.  
> It's a good story though. The language is a little difficult but it's got genuine suspense. If you want more background on the story, I'd suggest watching Overly Sarcastic Productions' video on Dracula. It will crack you up.  
> The song which Kartik hums at the end is called Chandni Raat (moonlit night) by Ali Sethi. Please, please listen to it. Fits really well with the end of this chapter.  
> So yes, this marks the end of this story. Tell me how you liked it...  
> Kudos and comments make my day!  
> -Advaita (That's my full nom de plume!)

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how you felt about this... the next couple of chapters are going to be longer. This is just the fluffy intro.  
> Have a good day/night!  
> Kudos and comments make my day!  
> -Adv


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